


Yamamoto Takeshi's Midsummer Wet Dream

by kokuchim



Series: The Konbini!Verse [1]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: AU of doom, Alternate Universe - Convenience Store, Film major!Takeshi, Hipster!Xanxus, It was official art's fault, Lot's of fluff, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Multi, Science major!Hayato, Swearing, because Gokudera, but lot's of angst too, mentions of accidental voyeurism, okay I didn't mean for this to happen, the first part is relatively tame, there may be surprises in store
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3730897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokuchim/pseuds/kokuchim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Yamamoto pines (pines very hard) and tries (and fails and tries again) to make Gokudera realize that their love is not meant to stay in Paris but is the kind that grows old with each other. Now if only he can convince the love of his life to be his Mrs. Robbie Hart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yamamoto Takeshi's Midsummer Wet Dream

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY, OKAY. I HAVE A CONFESSION TO MAKE.
> 
> This story has been sitting in my hard drive for a little over a year because I chickened out on posting it because I wasn't done with part 2. YES YOU READ RIGHT. This clusterfuck of a fic is going (did beat) the record of the longest piece of fiction I have ever written. It trumps the stripper!fic I wrote. I still can't believe I managed to do that.
> 
> Firstly, I blame Amano-sensei (no but I really can't!) for creating that official of Gokudera working a convenience store. It made me realize things I never knew I needed in my life (which is pathetic in itself tbh) and couldn't find in the fandom.  
> Also, I blame alykapedia for egging me on and relatively being a bad friend to finish this monster!fic. I hate to love you, waifu. I really do.
> 
> So yeah, this is basically the the convenience store AU I didn't know I needed to write. Badly. with the force of a thousand suns. I hope you like it and if you recognize any of the geeky, nerdy shit I did put there, you-read-that-right and quotes or movies I referenced feel free to leave a comment down there and I'll tell you if you got it right.

 

**{Act 1: Yamamoto Takeshi’s Midsummer Wet Dream}**

 

_(Interlude 1)_

 

 

 

Yamamoto Takeshi has always been a lucky boy. 

 

He never had trouble with school, friends, baseball and girls. Things came pretty easy to him. And although he didn't have a problem with it, he had always felt a sort of emptiness. This was not saying that he felt discontented with his life. On the contrary, he felt pretty happy. 

 

He had resolved to living his life with the "empty hole." It wasn't as if he could do anything about it. 

 

But that was before he had met what he had been missing. And life without it, had seemed unbearable.

 

 

 

_(Interlude 2)_

 

 

 

Yamamoto Takeshi would categorize his life into two phases.

 

Before Gokudera and After Gokudera.

 

You would think that a boy who fell in love with a trash talking, chain smoking man in spite of his good looks would have better taste in romantic partners or had a disenchanting childhood.

 

Unfortunately for you my dear audience, he had neither. On the contrary, he had a relatively happy childhood. He was never left wanting for affection or attention. But then again, not all fruit that come from the selfsame tree would taste the same, won't you agree?

 

For all the normalcy that our protagonist possesses, he was peculiarly eccentric.

 

But we are getting ahead of ourselves, and this introduction is getting rather long. 

 

Let's go back to the beginning.

 

 

_(1)_

 

 

It was the hottest day of the summer.

 

As he was a country boy at heart, Yamamoto usually found respite in the shade of a tree back at home. Unfortunately, here in the concrete jungle that was Tokyo, the only trees he could remotely find were too far away and provided as little reprieve from the heat wave the city was currently besotted with.

 

He wiped the sweat from his brow as he continued on his training schedule. He had now run around 20 kilometers in this sweltering heat. If it wasn't for the nearing Koshien Qualifying tournament, he wouldn't even be out at _all_. The sun was beating down at him mercilessly, and he found himself needing to take a short break. 

 

Drawing to a stop near a convenience store, Yamamoto pats his pockets for any spare change he could have left and finds a ten thousand yen bill. Lucky.

 

The cool air whips at his face, and Yamamoto could feel the sweat drying on his skin and the cool feeling it left behind. He heads to the back corner and opens the refrigerator to get a bottle of _Pocari_. 

 

Twisting the bottle cap free, he takes a swig of the liquid, feeling the water quench his thirst. Wiping his mouth with the back of this hand he heads to the counter to pay for his drink when he stops.

 

It was ironic that every cliche'd film trope he had ever studied in his class was happening to him at this very second.

 

Yamamoto could feel time halting to a stop, or as close to it as possible, he'll settle for slow motion. The radio's blaring a rendition of The Ramones' I want to be your boyfriend and the convenience store clerk decides to look at him directly.

 

If he had to describe the experience, Yamamoto Takeshi would say that he had met a manic pixie dream boy. It was a wholly accurate statement and perfectly valid. It was this chance encounter that would propel him towards a life of fulfillment and happiness, provided he could win him over. It was a catalyst. It was fate. It was a foreign boy, with tattoos, piercings, silver hair and smoking a cigarette like it was no one's fucking business. It was destiny.

 

It was love at first sight.

 

It was-- 

 

'what the fuck are you still standing around there for asshole? Are you paying for that shit you opened or do I have to call the cops?' 

 

'Umm, ohh uhhh sorry'

 

The boy starts muttering to himself as he grabs the bottle from Takeshi's fingers. Yamamoto could hear the frantic beating of his heart, threatening to escape from his ribcage. He looks at the boy's name tag (bless these convenience store protocols) and reads Gokudera. It was a wonderful name. It was--

 

'Hey asshole I'm talking to you'

 

'I'm sorry?'

 

'Tch' the boy says, opening his palm towards Yamamoto. 

 

'Oh yeah, umm here. Sorry'

 

The boy punches a few codes and the cash box opens with a _ping!_  Yamamoto finds himself unable to stop fidgeting. He was making a horrible impression. 

 

The boy suddenly grabs his hand, opens it and all but shoves the money into his palm. All Yamamoto could think about was how Gokudera's fingers made his arm tingle with heat, like dancing electricity. 

 

He hurriedly, places the money back into his pocket, grabs his bottle and all but runs out of the convenience store.

 

He could feel his face burning, hand tingling, heart hammering in his chest and the excitement threatening to break out into a lopsided grin. 

 

 

 

_(2)_

 

 

 

Gokudera Hayato was a complicated man.

 

Takeshi had hardly been able to glean anything insightful about the manic pixie dream boy aside from his work shift schedule, habits, attire and whatever skin visible via the use of a scoping lens his father had bought him for a photography class he took a semester ago.

 

Whenever Takeshi came by the convenience store he barely said anything more than a sentence to him. And when he did, it had an obscene amount of profanity involving colorful usage of the word "fuck."

 

Takeshi sighed. If only Gokudera was actually serious in his declarations.

 

His curiosity was still nowhere near satisfied. He wanted to know more about the boy. He wanted to be friends with him ( _okay_ maybe he didn't really want to be friends with him, but Yamamoto would take what he could get).

 

'Ano...Takeshi-kun, you've been at this spot for the entire week now. I don't think this is becoming a good habit’ Tsuna pauses before adding, ‘or hobby'

 

'Ne Tsuna, do you know who that boy is?'

 

Tsuna, Yamamoto's longtime childhood best friend, gave out a long-suffering sigh. He took the offered scoping lens from Yamamoto and peered through the convenience store's glass windows.

 

'You mean the convenience store worker?'

 

'Yeah, the hot guy with the silver hair'

 

Tsuna scrunched his head in concentration. He was sure he had seen this boy before. 

 

'He's in my biology class. His name is Gokudera Hayato. I heard from Kyoko-chan that he was under a presidential scholarship under nuclear sciences or something. It was pretty fancy, Kyoko-chan was impressed.'

 

Yamamoto took back the scoping lens from Tsuna. He couldn't seem to hide the smile from his face. He decided to store up that tidbit of information for future use.

 

'Gokudera is pretty smart huh?'

 

Sitting himself more comfortably on the ground, Tsuna turned to face his childhood friend. 'If you don't mind me asking Takeshi-kun, why the sudden interest in Gokudera-san?'

 

Yamamoto regarded his childhood friend carefully, unsure if he should just tell the truth or lie about it so he wouldn't make him uncomfortable. 

 

'Well, I haven’t seen him around before,' Yamamoto says noncommittally.

 

Tsuna crossed his arms, 'Please do not lie to me Takeshi-kun. Something new for you is like ‘ _Oh Haru-chan has a new hair cut! That’s cute, what’s for dinner?_ You've been stalking this man for over a week now.'

 

‘It’s not stalking if it has a purpose.’

 

‘When you stalk people it’s for a purpose.’

 

'Sharp as ever.'

 

'I've learned from the best.' Tsuna shifted in his seat but maintained his gaze, cheeks coloring slightly. How cute. No wonder Mukuro was so desperate to get into his pants. It's just too bad Tsuna's already taken.

 

Having finally deciding to tell the truth, Yamamoto fixed him a heavy glare.

 

'You know those things in movies where the hero goes all _puwaaaa_ and there's this iconic background music and then the hero suddenly sees his destined love?'

 

'Like Casablanca?'

 

It appeared that Yamamoto had influenced Tsuna about movies. Or maybe it was Rinato's doing. It was _Casablanca_. In any case, he understood the metaphor. This made things much easier.

 

'That happened to me. I've fallen in love with him.'

 

' _Him?_ '

 

'Mmm, _Gokudera_ ,' Yamamoto nods his assent.

 

Yamamoto had never really understood the idiomatic expression of gaping like a fish, but if he did know (but he didn't, not really) he would use it to describe Tsuna's red face.

 

 He looked like a magikarp. 

 

 

 

_(3)_

 

 

 

'Voiiii!!! Why don't you just talk to him you stupid piece of shit? I didn't choose to become your thesis advisor so you can be chicken wuss! Or maybe you don't have any balls at all.'

 

Yamamoto scratched his head. Leave it to Squalo to ferret out his insecurities like a carving knife to butter. 

 

'Look at me when I'm talking to you stupid pupil!'

 

'It's kind of hard to do that right now.'

 

It wasn't that Yamamoto had a problem with gay people. He wasn't a homophobe, he found them rather interesting to be honest. He’s also not one to talk as he sleeps with, okay one of them, and he finds the experience rather pleasant.

 

 He _was_ rather uncomfortable with the sight of his thesis adviser in fishnet lingerie (that probably should _not be used outside of a bedroom)_ , a fur coat and hooker boots that he thought only ever existed in Pretty Woman until now (admittedly Squalo's favorite movie, but he would chop off your liver and sell it to an organ factory if you ever found out). 

 

That wasn't to say that Squalo wasn't attractive. He was. With legs that could go on for miles, a pretty face and long platinum blonde hair that put women to shame—he was the quintessential hot, exotic professor from Milan. He was also the boyfriend of a popular slam poet in the campus called ‘ _X-man.’_ Ironically, the hipster was Tsuna’s cousin and they hated each other feverishly (or Xanxus hated Tsuna, the latter was usually more afraid of him).

 

Squalo looked at him up and down, his eyes zeroing in on his crotch, the lack of any erection made him dubiously unimpressed. Yamamoto coughs and angles his body away from the exhibitionist.

 

'This is nothing you haven't seen before,' Squalo purrs in his ear, snaking an arm around Yamamoto’s chest. He shuddered.

 

A violet-haired boy wearing a tacky animal-printed shirt smiled dangerously.

 

' _Kufufufu,_ cat got your tongue baseball boy?'

 

‘N-not really? Hahaha! I just want to read my book and pretend I don’t exist right now’

 

‘What book?’

 

This probably merited an introduction as well.

 

Yamamoto had met Mukuro Rokudo during his first year Feminism and Sexuality class. He was an English lit major with a fascination for fantasy fiction and historical erotica (He also dyed his hair an interesting shade of violet that he insists is natural, Tsuna thinks he’s liar). On one peculiar class, Yamamoto had caught him reading Lady Chatterly's Lover under the desk and sparked a discussion involving censorship, porn and how they wished to go to San Diego comic con dressed up as characters from The Lord of the Rings mythos. Needless to say, they hit it off right away.

 

'According to Ryohei-sempai, he heard Gokudera speaking Russian on the phone yesterday. It's probably his first language, so I've been learning it the past few months to impress him.'

 

'And where did you find the inspiration to do this pray tell?'

 

'Howard Wolowitz'

 

Mukuro looked skeptical. 'I'm not sure a five foot something, horny Jewish guy from a sitcom is a proper role model for hooking up with people.'

 

Yamamoto remained unfazed and focused on his book, 'He got married in the end didn't he? Besides, Gokudera is kind of like Bernadette. Beautiful and sweet.'

 

Squalo snorted.

 

‘Voiii!!! That boy is deranged, hot-tempered and violent,' Squalo quips as he downs another shot. 'I would know, his thesis adviser is that pervert doctor from _Sciences_ who keeps asking me to film his sex tapes. Like I give a fuck about his sex life! Vooooiii! Give me another one Mama!'

 

Mama Lussuria is the proud owner of ‘ _Sonny Bar_ ,’ a popular establishment in Tokyo’s _Ni-Choume_.  He is also irrevocably and proudly gay. (It may or may not also be exacerbated by the fact his pub, according to Mukuro, is colored in a violent shade of flamingo pink and has a neon sign of a camisole wearing transvestite lifting a hairy leg suggestively). 

 

This establishment is also known as _Yamamoto's Safe Haven_. 

 

Mama Lussuria pours Squalo another shot of vodka.

 

'Ne, ne, Squalo-chan, maybe you should ease up on the drinking? Xanxus-sama might get angry at you again.'

 

Squalo downed the shot instantly. 'If me getting drunk as fuck is what it takes to get his dick up my ass then I'll drink the entire fucking bottle! Give me another one!'

 

'Are you sure? You might not feel it that much if he does.'

 

Squalo smiled languorously wide and dangerous, 'oh I'll feel it. He'll make me feel it when he dips his thick fingers between the cracks of my ass and—'

 

Yamamoto shuts out the conversation between the bar owner and his thesis advisor. As much as he loved both of them, he already knew far enough about Squalo's erotic interests. (He also may or may not have seen the man on one occasion after a frat party, wearing a gimp suit and engaged with Tsuna’s cousin in sadomasochistic sex. It was as educational as it was traumatic).

 

‘Why don't you just ask him out and then show him how amazing you are between the sheets?' Mukuro says disinterestedly, trying to text Tsuna posing as Yamamoto on his phone.

 

'It's not something I can say so easily,' Yamamoto countered, looking up from his book. Peering on Mukuro’s ghost texting he quips, ‘Tsuna’s going to figure you out if you keep texting properly. I use text lingo.’

 

‘And it is a travesty. One would think you were a stupid jock. Why does he think something’s wrong with you?’

 

‘Once again, I use text lingo.’

 

Mukuro pauses and contemplates his reply to Tsuna’s query. His dichromatic eyes glinting from the cellphone’s blue light. Smirking in satisfaction, he closes the phone and faces Yamamoto resuming their prior conversation’s train of thought.

 

'Now that’s been dealt with,’ Mukuro begins, pointing a delicate finger at Yamamoto, ‘you are far from shy. I once asked you if I could see your dick and you didn't even bat an eyelash! And remember that time we got too horny from that video Ryohei left at your place sophomore year? Honestly speaking, that was one of the best sex I’ve had. And I’m not denying I sleep around.' 

 

Yamamoto blushed at the Lit Major’s statement. 'This is different. I don't want to screw this up.' Yamamoto sipped at his oolong tea, observing the stain it left at the counter. 'I really like him you know?'

 

Mukuro nodded and focused on his phone conversation ( _technically_ Yamamoto's phone). The phone buzzes and Mukuro taps a few keys in reply. Yamamoto just sips his tea.

 

'Tsuna says you're going to talk to him tomorrow and introduce yourself. It seems like he's not a bad guy. I quote, _'I talked to him this morning at class, I think we became friends after he saved our lab experiment. He's really nice.'_ There's your sign lover boy!'

 

Yamamoto looks at Mukuro dubiously. He feels his palms sweating and rubs them against his pants in an effort to dry them. This was worse than his first Koshien championship game.

 

'But what if I can't seem to get the words out of my mouth? What if I clam up?'

 

It was at this time, Squalo decided to sit on his lap suggestively and decidedly drunk, cupping Yamamoto’s face between his gloved hands and purrs into his ears,  'Then buy him a list of things he'll figure out the meaning of. I taught you this in class. Besides he’s supposedly a genius right? Give him a box of condoms. He’ll figure it out.'

 

It was a brilliant plan.

 

 

 

(4)

 

 

 

In retrospect, it was altogether a rather, a horrible idea that he should have never done in the first place.

 

If he had he wouldn’t be holding a restraining order and barred from seeing the love of his life within fifty feet. In any case he had a scoping lens, so Yamamoto was still not deterred from watching over a certain Italian.

 

It, being the actual action that got landed him in this ridiculous predicament in the first place, was remarkably well-planned out despite being ill-conceived. The genius of it could not be contested at the very least. Yamamoto was nothing if not meticulous when it came to wooing his manic pixie dream boy.

 

He had created story boards for this. He had rehearsed his lines in front of the mirror. It was perfect to the last detail. If this was a movie, the audience and the critics would have said this was the most memorable part of his film. It was the culmination of weeks and hours of agony and lovesickness.

 

It went horribly, devastatingly wrong in execution.

 

This is probably still a very confusing explanation of what would later be known as the ‘ _package incident_.’

 

It would be a veritable time to explain what exactly went wrong then.

 

Picture this, the cameras are rolling, the audience waits with bated breath. Enter our well-loved protagonist in his well-worn jeans, plaid shirt and white sneakers. The electronic doors of the convenience store clink and open at his arrival. His (would be) paramour spares him a glance and continues to read his book behind the counter. He flips a page. The very image of nonchalance.

 

Our protagonist heads towards a different aisle, grabbing the items he needs and placing them in the basket. His heart is pounding in his chest. His ears are thrumming with anticipation. The steady clinks of rubber soles on concrete are dulled by the steady music of some English band Yamamoto is pretty sure he is familiar with but cannot seem to be bothered with at the moment.

 

He deposits the basket on the counter as the manic pixie dream boy dog-ears a well-loved copy of The Two Towers on the side.

 

The items presented in sequence:

 

A lollipop

 

A box of tissues

 

Lotion

 

3 boxes of extra shelf-life condoms

 

A bottle of Pocari Sweat

 

A silver, arching brow is raised as the items are scanned by the foreign boy. Yamamoto gives him a million dollar smile. This is the deciding moment. This is where Yamamoto’s (near) future is decided.

 

 _‘How much must I pay?’_ He makes sure he says it exactly right. Intonation, Pronunciation, Everything.

 

The man blinks but recovers, ‘ _760 yen’_

The money is deposited promptly to the outstretched hand.

_‘I heard you were from Russia. Is it cold there?’_

_‘I’m from Sicily.’_

_‘Oh, where in Russia is that? North?’_

_‘No fucktard I’m Italian.’_

_‘Oh’_ the situation was salvageable. He could still do this. He could still get Gokudera’s number at the very least if they couldn’t be friends. 

_‘How the fuck do you even know I can speak Russian?’_

_‘Oh I’ve been seeing you around and talking in Russian a lot’_

_‘You’ve been following me?!’_

_‘Yes.’_

 

Our protagonist realizing his mistake all too late hastily remedies with an expedient lie, _‘I mean no no no no I’m not following you or anything! That’s crazy! I mean, I-I-I-I’ve only recently found out that you have like a really really nice tattoo of Spock’s line on your left hipbone, it’s quite sexy and I love the way you tied it in with episode—I mean no! I have never seen your really nice tattoo on your left hipbone I—’_

The plan was exploding. He felt like Sonny Corleone being shot to death in his epic gas station scene. There were atomic bomb explosions, shattering glass, his hands shake, he starts to sweat and he starts to wish a hole would swallow him up right this instant when he finally _looks_.

 

Yamamoto’s breath catches. He marvels at his chiseled cheekbones, alabaster skin and those green, green eyes. He feels time slow and he _wisheswisheswishes_ he could cup Gokudera’s cheek in his baseball-worn hands, tilt his mouth like so and make him fall in love with him like he has so terribly and irrevocably done him.

 

He fails to notice the slight smattering of red burgeoning on the man’s cheeks and ears, eyebrows knit in ill-hidden fury, hands gripping the paper bag he has packed the contents of our protagonist’s purchase in a vice-like grip.

 

_‘Your eyelashes are like snowflakes you know that? You are beautiful—‘_

_‘You’re a fucking stalker! Get away from me! I’m filing a restraining order you piece of shit! Pervert Pervert!’_

 

Gokudera had punched him. Repeatedly. In the face. It was amazing. He could finally smell the cologne he uses and finally felt how soft and smooth his skin is.

 

His body hits the floor, head swimming with confusion.

 

The last thing he sees before he blacks out is Gokudera who had taken a fistful of his shirt, straddling him (oh god, if he didn’t have a boner before he had one _now_ ) and screaming expletives of love at his face. But all Yamamoto could hear was ‘fuck, fucking asshole, fuck you’

 

Yamamoto cannot begin to tell Gokudera how much he would love to say ‘I do. I really really do.’

 

 

 

_(5)_

 

 

 

Yamamoto Takeshi is going to kill Mukuro.

 

He is going to gut him with his father’s sushi knife and leave his entrails on Tsuna’s doorstep as an offering of peace and longevity.

 

Tsuna is practically egging him on with noncommittal answers filled with ill-hidden vehemence. He was officially a persona non grata within his presence.

 

He had not only agreed to let Mukuro court his best friend much to the latter’s chagrin and contempt but he had a line. A very firm, heavy and smattered with copious amounts of red paint line.

 

No one touched what was his. No one.

 

Yamamoto was a very caring person. He let Tsuna have nearly everything he wanted from him. The keyword here is: _nearly._ For whatever Yamamoto Takeshi guarded and held back from others were things he was as selfish as a dragon hoarding his treasure was.

 

‘I’m really really sorry Takeshi. I didn’t mean to! He was really into Tolkien! Do you know how many people are into Tolkien nowadays?!’

 

 

‘Next thing I knew we were talking in Sindarin and he wrote something on the receipt in Hobbitton! I’m sorry I should have known better!’

 

A betrayal of trust. Of the _bro code_.

 

It was unacceptable.

 

Mukuro pleads, hands wringing and all Yamamto can see are the lines upon which he’ll carve the lying, stinking, manwhore who touched what was _his._

 

‘I refuse to have anything to do with you.’

 

Tsuna, good old Tsuna tries to be the mediator. ‘Anoo, Takeshi-kun please stop looking at Mukuro-san as if you want to cut him up into little pieces. We’re still in public.’

 

That was as good as Tsuna telling him to do the bloody act. He’ll cut him up in private then.

 

‘Get out,’ Yamamoto says quietly. Still staring daggers at the betrayer.

 

‘I really didn’t think he’d give me his number!’

 

Liar. The only time people ever give people numbers at the end of a conversation is when both parties are flirting with each other. Gazing at this _Judas_ was making Yamamoto sick.

 

Tsuna gives him a look of pity and every vile thing and emotion that wasn’t happy or go lucky or caring he’s ever hidden and Yamamoto is so ashamed that Tsuna can _see_ him like this. This vengeful, angry creature and leads Mukuro by the wrist outside of the library.

 

Yamamoto felt sick with himself.

 

Here he was, holding a receipt with Gokudera’s number in his hands with Gokudera’s beautiful penmanship and all he could taste was the bile in his throat.

 

 _Call me,_ it says.

 

Call me in _Hobbitton_. Call me Mukuro. Call me, I’d definitely go out with you instead of _baseball idiot_. Call me we can have dinner, a few drinks and crazy kinky sex in my apartment.

 

Call me and you just spat Yamamoto’s offering of complete trust when he said that yes you could court Tsuna who had a girlfriend that he loved very much.

 

Call me and you can flaunt me in front of your stalker friend who plays baseball and loves me more than you ever will.

 

Call me and you can spit on your friend Yamamoto who would willingly go down on his knees and beg for even a scrap of affection from me.

 

Yeah, _call me._

Yamamoto wants to cry.

 

_(Interlude 3)_

 

Months pass. Summer fades into Autumn. Warm gives way to the cold.

 

The world spins on its axis and still Yamamoto is madly in love with Gokudera.

 

He sits on a park bench in Ueno park cradling a pen and a black notebook writing nonsensical scribbles of what he is trying to turn into a semblance of a plot for his Film degree’s thesis. He’s still got nothing. 60 meters away there is a coffee shop where a certain Italian science student has holed up for the past 2 hours, well into his second cup of coffee and poring over research notes like drowning man. He’s thinner, hair tied up in a ponytail, bags under his eyes but still he looks beautiful.

 

 He is beautiful in his brilliance and intellect and caring soul that Yamamoto hears from Tsuna as he is still not allowed within fifty feet of the man without ending up in jail.

 

He sits here instead. Amidst all the fallen leaves of red and yellow, on a park bench with a scoping lens, a camera and an unfulfilled longing in his heart to be able to even be in the same room as Gokudera.

 

 Even if they never speak.

 

Yamamoto writes about the longing in his heart and he can feel the scant pulling of a plot tugging within the recesses of his mind.

 

He starts to write.

 

Time moves on.

 

_(6)_

 

When baseball practices shift from mandatory to optional after Koshien, Yamamoto decides to forego them to focus on his thesis. He has to make a short film and present it at the ampitheatre during the university’s annual cultural festival about 6 months from now.

 

He’s finally had a script, stamped with approval by his adviser, Squalo after 2 weeks of squabbling and debating and cursing at Mama Lussuria’s bar. Squalo thinks it’s interesting. Yamamoto thinks it’s his last chance.

 

So he cannot be blamed nor be put to jail for what happens next.

 

The trees are all but barren and devoid of life, students are slowly milling away from the library to go home. Yamamoto’s decided to stay here and make his storyboards in silence, surrounded by dozens of picture shots and angles and opened books for reference materials.

 

He doesn’t hear the thud that indicated someone had sat next to him hours ago. He doesn’t register the shuffling of papers over his intense concentration on envisioning his masterpiece in his mind. He doesn’t hear the shuffling of footsteps as this ghost of a neighbor picks several more reference materials or the steady tap-tap-tapping of keys on a keyboard over the scribbles of his own hand.

 

He doesn’t realize that all of this has stopped a scant few minutes ago.

 

He doesn’t realize this person has been staring at him for the past hour, transfixed.

 

He doesn’t notice that night has turned into day and he had fallen asleep sometime in the night when he finally finishes his storyboard. It’s perfect.

 

He does notice a red and white scarf around his neck. It’s an _A.C. Milan_ , worn soft from love and care. He probably needs to return it to whomever it belonged to. He knows it smells familiar but he can’t figure out where. He hasn’t had breakfast yet and he’s pulled an all-nighter to finish this.

 

He prays for good fortune to whomever put the scarf around his neck last night. It was cold, alright.

 

He doesn’t know that the one who put it there was Gokudera.

 

_(7)_

 

He wishes they had met properly in a different way.

 

No, that’s a lie. By now Yamamoto would do anything, take anything he could get. He is standing in a bar with Tsuna leaning heavily on him, babbling about his break up with Kyoko-chan. He felt horrible for him.

 

‘I mean, sure— _hiccup_ —we haven’t had sex even if we’d been dating for a year— _sniff_ —but I wanted to respect that! I didn’t want to pressure her! I _loved_ her! How could she do that to me?’ Tsuna wails against the counter, the bartender pouring the poor boy another shot of whiskey.

 

‘I fended off _Mukuro!_ Do you know how hard it is to say no to a hot guy who wants to get into my pants? _Persistently_? I mean have you seen his hands?! God they’re soo long…’

 

‘Maa, maa Tsuna don’t you think you’ve had enough?’

 

‘Shut up Takeshi and drink your shot!’ Tsuna says seriously, downing his in one go.

 

‘Why did she have to sleep with Haru-chan? Is it because I never pressured her into having sex with me? Am I boring? Tell me— _hiccup_ —Yamamoto-kun. Tell me honestly’

 

Tsuna looks at him with hazel-brown eyes filled with sorrow and he feels his heart pull.

 

‘I don’t think it’s because of that Tsuna. I don’t think it was a very good thing for her to do.’

 

‘Did she never love me?’

 

‘I think she loved you Tsuna. She still loves you very much.’

 

A tear escapes Tsuna’s eyes and he hiccups. Yamamoto takes out his wallet pays for their drinks, downs his shot and decides to escort Tsuna outside of the pub. Getting there was a tricky dance of trying to walk straight with an eighty kilogram weight trying to wrap itself around you for warmth and stability. Yamamoto wonders if he should have tried doing the Time Warp while he had the chance.

 

The street is practically empty but still he chances upon meeting Gokudera.

 

‘Tenth? Is that you? What happened to you?!’ Gokudera exclaims at Tsuna’s morose, drunk and aggrieved expression. Yamamoto shifts his arm around Tsuna’s weight to better steady him.

 

‘You! What are you doing with him? Get away from him you stalker! How dare you take advantage of his chastity for your selfish and lecherous perversion!’

 

‘Yamamoto-kun maybe she didn’t love me because I was a virgin!’ Tsuna whispers conspiratorially in his hear.

 

This was getting out of hand. Yamamoto spots a yellow taxi and hails it. Tsuna, still mumbling incoherent thoughts was oblivious to Gokudera’s presence at all.

 

‘I don’t think she did that because of what you’re saying Tsuna.’

 

‘Give him to me you pervert! How dare you touch him with your filthy hands!’

 

‘Maa, Maa Gokudera I think I can handle him myself, There’s no need to trouble you with this.’

 

Gokudera still trying to wrench Tsuna’s person away from the alleged lecher scowls even harder.

 

‘I _do_ need to do this! Get away from us!’

 

‘He’s my best friend, of course I wouldn’t take advantage of him. I just want to get him home.’

 

‘Home where?’

 

‘My apartment of course’

 

‘Aha! Don’t think you had me fooled to your intentions you baseball freak!’

 

And as much as Yamamoto relished this prolonged conversation with the love of his life, he really didn’t need Tsuna (who had been jostled around by Gokudera trying to get him away from Yamamoto) to feel even more bad or have to defend his chastity or whatever.

 

Tsuna decides instead to puke on Yamamoto’s clothes.

 

They manage the wrangle to Yamamoto’s apartment civilly with no more than 2 more puking sessions from Tsuna. _Thankfully._

 

_‘Because Gokudera I don’t have his house keys and I have food and water in my apartment’_

_‘Fine! Have it your way but I’m going with you for adult supervision!’_

_‘I’m an adult too you know’_

_‘You’re a pervert, you’ll never count’_

Yamamoto rummages around his drawers for some clean clothes Tsuna and Gokudera could wear after the Taxi fiasco (Gokudera and Yamamoto splitting the cab fare plus a hefty tip). Gokudera decides to help Tsuna wash up his face and help sober him up.

 

He brings the clean linen and some extra towels to the bathroom door, knocks twice and leaves it outside. He didn’t need Gokudera to have more ammunition to throw at him if he left them inside the bathroom, despite how much he longed to peek at his glorious form, tattoos, piercing and all.

 

He decides to forego his shirt and pants and changes into cleaner clothing having wiped off himself with a wet towellette. He’s finally finished washing away the soap from his torso when the door to the bathroom door opens.

 

He tries hard to fight off the visage of Gokudera in his favorite blue Yankees shirt. He also tries not to have a hard on.

 

Yamamoto had never really understood the metaphor of ‘how absence makes the heart fonder’ until he laid eyes on Gokudera. _Goddamn_. He had thought that Tsuna was going to wear that one. Evidently _not._

 

Looking at the love of his life in his _baseball shirt_ , Yamamoto would have to resort to diversionary tactics to ensure his hard on (because how could he _not_ ) does not become noticeable.

 

‘For Chrissakes you moron, put a shirt on! You just had to be both an exhibitionist and a pervert,’ Gokudera exclaims, steering Tsuna away and towards Yamamoto’s bed.

 

‘Maa, maa Gokudera I didn’t know it’d make you uncomfortable,’ Yamamoto hastily replies rummaging for a spare shirt. If he had known this would have happened he would have done his laundry yesterday.

 

Yamamoto thinks his room is pretty normal. Okay so maybe he has too many posters of movies and baseball players and his shelves are filled to the brim with movies from every genre he could lay his hands on (he _was_ a film major). It may have not been the cleanest room but it was _tidy_. (Okay that was an understatement, his room was a mess but at least he had the decency to hide his porn well and away from public viewing and therefore _tidy_ ).

 

Gokudera and Yamamoto sit on the tatami, Tsuna’s snores and restless sleep being the only sound that permeates the room.

 

For months he has dreamed about this encounter.

 

For a chance to talk to Gokudera on neutral ground (okay so it wasn’t neutral and he didn’t want to talk to him in his _room_ but the picture of it is there in his mind doing backflips and the horizontal tango). Yamamoto spares a glance at Gokudera, seeing his irritated expression and twitchy fingers.

 

‘You can smoke if you want to you know’

 

Gokudera looks at him with barely concealed relief, ‘are you sure? It’s your room’

 

‘Yeah sure’

 

Okay so maybe Yamamoto doesn’t really like smokers but he’d be damned if Gokudera wouldn’t be comfortable in his presence at all. He had to make sacrifices.

 

In the end, compromising his health for the presence of one Gokudera Hayato in his life was well worth the trade-off.

 

Yamamoto stands up and goes to the kitchen counter to grab an empty beer can from last night’s drinking session with his buddies at the baseball club to use as a makeshift ash tray.

 

He offers it to Gokudera who wordlessly takes it with a small nod. Yamamoto watches him with fascination, as he tacks his cigarette box on your kotatsu, grabs a stick and lights it with a silver, skull-shaped lighter.

 

Gokudera takes a long drag and exhales with a contented sigh. Yamamoto tries to remember this scent and stores it in his brain’s compartment for all things related to the love of his life.

 

‘So’ Gokudera coughs and you try to bite back a smile, wouldn’t want to seem overeager, ‘what do you major in?’

 

‘Film’

 

Gokudera chortles and you give him a small chuckle. ‘You serious? I thought you would have been in Physical Education or Sports Science and all that shit. Seriously? Film?’

 

‘Yeah I know, I get that a lot. I do have other interests other than baseball you know.’

 

‘Like movies?’

 

‘Yeah definitely movies!’

 

Gokudera takes another drag and Yamamoto tries not act like he’s enjoying this conversation too much. He ends up looking like he really needs to pee but whatever, the good news is that his hard on has disappeared. That would have been awkward to explain.

 

‘What kind?’

 

‘Old movies. I like American Film Noirs the most but I also like French Arthouse films’

 

Gokudera looks at your shelves of movies and gives you a small smile, ‘never took you for a fucking romantic.’

 

Well he couldn’t deny that he had a lot of romantic comedy in that shelf.

 

‘All the best films have a at least a smattering of romance in it’

 

‘ _Smattering_ ’ he says, wrapping his tongue around the vowels like he’s making love to it, ‘Big fucking word for a baseball idiot.’

 

‘Maa, Maa I guess compared to your genius I do seem like an idiot though’ Yamamoto replies good-naturedly.

 

‘I suppose even idiots can have vocabulary.’

 

‘So what do you do in your course?’

 

‘If I explained the specifics your brain would probably implode so I’ll make it simple,’ he says taking an arrogant puff of pride. Yamamoto think its endearing. ‘I’m working on things that go boom.’

 

‘Oh you mean bombs? Let me guess, nuclear fission?’

 

Gokudera looked impressed, ‘That’s the gist of it. You don’t seem like that much of an idiot after all.’

 

‘Your praise makes me very happy.’

 

They don’t address the elephant in the room. They don’t talk about the restraining order. They don’t talk about how Yamamoto is really actually Gokudera’s stalker who is best friends with the man Gokudera practically worships and is very much interested in him. Romantically. Like, I want to make love to you. I want to marry you. I want to give you the right to Sunday Discovery Channel documentaries. I want to take care of you my whole life.

 

Instead, they talk about various other topics like grown men do.  

 

They talk about baseball.

 

_(‘How can you not like baseball? It has science to it!’_

_‘I don’t care about a bunch of jocks getting sweaty’)_

 

 

They talk about football.

 

_(‘No way! You like A.C. Milan too?! You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! I thought you were just another baseball freak’_

_‘I can like other sports to you know’_

_‘Bullshit’_

_‘No shit’)_

 

 

They talk about school.

 

_(‘I moved here from Milan about 3 years ago’_

_‘So you’re really Italian?’_

_‘Si’_

_‘Cool! Say something in Italian!’_

_‘Vorrei che non ho archiviare che ordine restrittivo così rapidamente. Tu non meriti.’_

_‘What did you say?’_

_‘You are a hopeless baseball idiot’_

_‘Hahahaha! You’re really funny Gokudera’)_

 

They talk about which supermodels they’d sleep with.

 

(‘ _What the fuck? Seriously? Adriana Lima? You should go for Alessadra Ambrosio_ ’)

 

 

They talk about which movies they love.

 

_(‘favorite movie? Shit that’s a hard question’_

_‘I know right? Better to ask genre’_

_‘fuck yeah’_

_‘but if you had to choose like it was a bonus question and you could only pick one’_

_‘Fuck! Uhhh Star Wars Episode V’_

_‘Good choice!’_

_‘You?’_

_‘Casablanca’_

_‘not bad’)_

 

They talk about their favorite books.

 

_(‘Okay liking Harry Potter does not make you fucking gay’_

_‘You just practically quoted Justin Timberlake from Friends with Benefits’_

_‘Fuck you’)._

 

 

They discuss on the possibility of actually creating Quidditch with science’s current developments.

 

_(‘Maybe you could be the one to pioneer it Gokudera!’_

_‘And you’ll willingly ride a flying contraption of death during initial test stages for me?’_

_‘I would for Quidditch’)._

They quip Star Trek quotes at each other.

 

_(‘Life and death are seldom logical’_

_‘But attaining a desired goal always is’_

_‘Holy fuck I didn’t know you watched Star Trek’_

_‘Galileo Seven right?’_

_‘Please tell me you can speak Klingon’)._

 

They don’t notice the grins plastered on their faces.

 

 They don’t realize that they’ve talked all night and that dawn is breaking.

 

 They don’t realize that the months of silence and longing that they had inadvertently both been feeling has been bridged.

 

They don’t realize that they are starting to gravitate even closer together, elbows touching as they pore over collector’s edition movie guides for Star Wars.

 

Yamamoto falls even further in love with Gokudera.

 

Gokudera doesn’t realize he’s starting to fall in love with Yamamoto.


End file.
